


A Tattoo Artist Walks into a Bookstore

by Dionte



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Human, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dionte/pseuds/Dionte
Summary: Crowley was a tattoo artist who occasionally liked to nip into bookstores for a little bit of inspiration. But only occasionally. Well. Until he met Aziraphale.





	A Tattoo Artist Walks into a Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing these boys, but I think it went pretty well.

Crowley knew he was not the first person someone expected to see in a bookstore. No. Not at all. Much less in an old, antique bookstore like this one. But who really cared? He liked it here.

Well.

He liked one of the workers here.

Most of the time, when he went into these sorts of stores, he got stares of derision, which, y’know, fair. He knew he looked like he’d set fire to this sort of store, not buy something from it. But hey, he had layers.

At first, he’d thought this store was the same. He’d entered and was scoffed at, rather than greeted. He’d ignored it and walked through the aisles, looking for something- anything- inspiring.

What he found was one of the workers hiding between the shelves, nose deep in a book. And the man looked up with wide eyes, like he’d been caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. But that was all. His nose didn’t turn up once he realized Crowley was there, he didn’t get that demeaning glint in his eye- in fact, his cheeks turned a little pink as he said,

“It seems I was caught.”

Crowley smiled, moving forward with his hands in his pockets, leaning towards the guy. “Reading something good there?”

And the man beamed, turning the book to show him. “Ah, yes, you see, this is the Easton Press edition of-”

“The Art of Love, yeah. I can read.”

The man froze. Taken aback. “Of course. Yes. It just arrived, and I’m afraid I was quite excited. I suppose I should return it then, unless it happened to be what you were looking for.”

“Oh, no. Nope. But, uh, you having problems with that?”

“Me? No. Not at all. Well. I haven’t exactly been… Looking. Shall we say.”

Crowley snorted. Looking, shall we say. Sounded like a ponce. But this was the first guy who hadn’t had that look of questioning when he’d seen him in a bookshop.

“But you must be looking for something. Perhaps I could be of assistance?”

Crowley shrugged. “Inspiration.”

“The poem?”

“No, you idiot. Do I look like a transcendentalist?”

The man gave him a bright smile. “No, I suppose not. But then, what are you looking for?”

“I’m a tattoo artist. I like looking at the filigree and fonts of old books sometimes.”

“Oh.” Crowley looked up, fully expecting the man’s face to have fallen into that familiar look of derision. But no. He was smiling, again. “I think I know a book you would just love to look at then.”

And he set off, Crowley following, fascinated and puzzled by the whole situation. Who was this guy? His hair was almost white, a bit messy, he wore a stuffy outfit, and he had blue eyes that held nothing but, well. Crowley didn’t really have a word for it besides _niceness._ Which just sounded wrong.

“Oy, what’s your name?”

The man had been pulling a book from an upper shelf, and upon his question, dropped it. He barely managed to catch it before it thudded to the ground, and Crowley could only watch in amusement.

“So sorry about that. Uh, yes. I’m Aziraphale.”

Crowley blinked. “What sort of name is that?”

“Mine, apparently.”

“What, you some sort of angel or something? Sounds like an angel name.”

“I think it was made up, actually.”

Crowley snorted. Hey. It was funny.

Aziraphale turned to him with the book, and at first glance, it was looking mighty fancy. Crowley took the book in his hands and began to flip through, then paused on an illustration of a skeletal jester holding a human mask. He looked to the next page, reading a bit of what appeared to be a poem before giving a nod and a huff. He closed the book and looked at the title and the price.

“Too rich for my blood.”

Aziraphale laughed, but it wasn’t condescending. “Well, it is a rare copy, but the content is public domain now. You could easily find it online.”

Crowley rose a brow. “That’s… not the best way of doing business.”

“I suppose not. But it was, uh, inspiring, was it not?”

A grin came to his face, and he chuckled. “Hah, yeah. It sure was.” He pushed the book back into Aziraphale’s hands.

“I’ve got an appointment, but I think I’ll be coming back sometime. I’ll see you around, angel.”

And that was how Crowley first met Aziraphale.

Now, how he’d come to like Aziraphale, well. He wasn’t even sure of it himself. Perhaps it was just something that naturally built up over time, or perhaps it was that first moment in the store when he didn’t feel like Aziraphale was judging him. Crowley simply didn’t know. What he did know was that he liked the small giggles Aziraphale gave, the slightest smile and blush at being called angel, and how much he really loved all the books in the store- to the point that he really shouldn’t work in a bookstore.

Crowley was convinced Aziraphale went home and cried whenever one sold.

But yes. He liked the store, and he liked Aziraphale very, very, much.

And he was relatively certain Aziraphale liked him too.

The day he realized this was a day that had started much like any other. His hands were steady as he inked in the lines on his client’s new tattoo. His hands were always steady, and he loved the fact that he was marking these people, permanently. It was a little piece of him, carried around everywhere. Thrilling, really.

Crowley put the finishing touches on the lining. They’d have to come in again for the color round, but so far he was feeling good about the design. He’d gotten plenty of inspiration, after all. Aziraphale was always happy to show him old designs and illustrations from the store’s collection, and he’d never say that he got all the inspiration he needed from Aziraphale himself.

It worked, whatever it was.

He had more appointments before the day ended. And when the last walked out the door, he checked the clock. He’d finished sooner than expected. He could squeeze in a visit to the bookstore before it closed.

He grabbed his jacket and flew out the door, ignoring the jeers of his coworkers, teasing him about a girlfriend or yelling about how horrible he was for leaving early.

“You wish you could keep up, bitches!”

He slammed the door on the indignant shrieking of the other artists with a smirk. Then he took a deep breath and rushed over to the now familiar bookstore.

“Aziraphale, buddy!”

He heard a shuffle from one of the inner aisles of books, and a muffled, “be right there!”

Crowley moved deeper, looking through the mess of books to find Aziraphale cautiously setting down an armful of what were probably valuable tomes. They looked ancient.

“Hey! Got anything you’d like to show me?”

Aziraphale smiled, and stepped around the pile he had been returning to the shelves to guide Crowley to his newest find. Before he could, however, a different voice echoed through the shop. One of Aziraphale’s bosses. Crowley hated them with a passion.

“Aziraphale.” The guy smiled all the time, but he never meant it. It creeped Crowley out. “If you aren’t going to work, you might as well just go home.”

Aziraphale blinked, hesitated. “I was just going to show Crowley the new-”

“Ah, no. You see, Crowley doesn’t buy anything. If you are going to spend your next,” the asshole checked his watch, “fifteen minutes talking to him, pointlessly, you might as well just leave now. Take him with you. Save us all the trouble.”

Aziraphale was flabbergasted.

And Crowley had an idea. He glanced between them, rolled on his heels a bit. “Might as well take him up on it.” He declared.

Aziraphale’s head jerked around to him. “Pardon?”

“Leave early. You can take me to, uh, that one place, you said, with the oysters?”

“Randall and Aubin?”

“Yeah, that place.”

“Well, yes, I haven’t had seafood for quite some time. And theirs is exqu-”

“So let’s go.”

“Oh, of course, well, I just need to grab my coat from the back, and-”

“I’ll wait for you right outside. By the door.”

“Yes. Yes! Just, I’ll be right there.”

Aziraphale stuttered his way behind the counter with the old register, and Crowley made eye contact with his dick of a manager.

“You know, for being such a snob, you really made it much easier for me to get him on a date. Guess I have to thank you for that.”

The manager choked as Crowley headed back outside to wait. He could only smile.

Soon the doors opened again, and there was Aziraphale, wearing a white overcoat with a smile on his face. Crowley grinned in response and pushed himself off the wall.

“Lead the way, angel.”

“Of course. If you’d just follow me.”

And he did. He followed Aziraphale through the streets to a restaurant, where they both sat down and began to chat, as they did all the time. For a first date, if felt much more like a fifth or a tenth date. It was all a natural continuation of the conversations at the bookstore.

But then again, they hadn’t said it was a date. Well, Crowley had said it was a date to piss off Gabriel. Perhaps it was just a conversation. Between friends. Eating oysters.

Crowley listened to the little moans of enjoyment Aziraphale made as he ate. Couldn’t not listen to it, really. And if he licked his lips, it was just because that seasoning was delicious, couldn’t miss a drop.

When they left the restaurant, Crowley held out an arm, like a true gentleman, and Aziraphale looked at it, chuckled, and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s.

They chattered as Crowley walked him home, and Crowley wondered again, if this was a date. They were close, arm in arm, walking through the park to Aziraphale’s flat. It had to be a date right? And if it were a date, well.

He’d been thinking about those lips for a while now, hadn’t he?

They stopped in front of Aziraphale’s home, and Crowley looked up.

“Guess this is it then.”

“Yes, I… I suppose it is.”

Aziraphale pulled himself away, glancing between the building and Crowley. He wanted to say something, but there were no words forthcoming.

“Aziraphale.”

And Aziraphale looked so hopeful, so light.

For some reason, it made Crowley hesitate. He backed off. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

Well, looked like they were both disappointed now. Still, Aziraphale smiled. Not the big blinding smile, but a small fond one. “Yes. We must.”

Crowley left, certain that Aziraphale must like him, at least in some capacity. And he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

That first date, if it was indeed a date, opened the door for others. Somehow, he wasn’t sure exactly how or even when, Aziraphale got his phone number. They would meet up once a month, then a few times a month, which became once a week. Crowley would still occasionally show up to the bookstore, but it was less common. He much preferred it that way, Aziraphale’s managers were straight up assholes. Crowley knew Aziraphale still enjoyed seeing him visit the store though, so he’d finished up early today and was heading to the bookshop to pick him up before their dinner.

He could be chivalrous. Sometimes.

For Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t go into the store, hoping to surprise Aziraphale when he got off shift, but he was surprised when he could hear voices inside. Maybe it was something about being a bookstore, but there was never much conversation in there, besides when he and Aziraphale chatted.

So he was curious.

He could hear that smiling prick.

“-rather excited.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Let me guess, seeing that… Tattoo artist again.”

“Yes!”

“I just don’t understand it. How can you involve yourself with such a person?”

He swore he could hear Aziraphale blink.

“A man who purposefully mars bodies like that, I’d want no part in it.”

It was silent after that, and Crowley felt his face fall into a scowl.

“The way I see it-” Aziraphale’s voice was soft. Crowley had to strain to listen. “-he’s an artist. A scholar, the same as any of our other clients. He simply works with skin rather than paper or anything else. I believe it’s beautiful. Quite lovely. And I would be proud to wear his work.”

And that was something Crowley had never considered.

He left, blush high on his face as he thought of giving Aziraphale a tattoo. Of drawing on his back, which led to thoughts of a shirtless Aziraphale, and he could not go there right now, nope. He could not think about this before going on a date with him.

Still, he thought about it.

He wanted it.

Crowley went to the restaurant they were meeting at. Reserved their table while he waited for Aziraphale to show, even though he still wasn’t sure how to face him. After overhearing that conversation, he was confused. Flattered too, but more confused. Because really, what was he doing? What had he been doing for the past few months?

Aziraphale arrived.

“Good evening, Crowley! So good to see you again.”

“Ah, yeah. I already reserved us a table, so you know. Let’s go.”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale began conversing lightly, talking about his day, about the restaurant they’d chosen, and his plan for the next day. Crowley listened intently, but flashes of that earlier conversation ran through his head.

“You seem a little distracted tonight, Crowley.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. Got something on my mind.”

“Oh! Well, go on then.”

Crowley gaped at Aziraphale’s wide grin. “What?”

“You listen to me all the time. I thought you might like me to listen to you for a change.”

Crowley stared. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“Oh. Um. I suppose that would be a problem.”

He wanted to try though. “Have I ever shown you my work?”

Aziraphale brightened. “No. You haven’t.”

Crowley pulled out his phone, tapping his way to the gallery and pulling up some completed designs he was proud of. He turned his phone to Aziraphale.

“See, this one the client wanted a sort of fantastical beast. I decided to go kinda chimera. Lion, hawk, snake, all that. Since it was colored as well, I tried to keep the lines thin, then decided to combine them with the shading to try and give it more depth. I’m still proud of how it turned out.”

“You should be. It looks brilliant.”

Crowley pulled his phone back, pulling up a different one. “This one was for some Japanese weeb.”

“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Did you use Endo as inspiration?”

“It would be hard not to.”

Aziraphale laughed, and the night continued on like that, Crowley showing him pictures of old and new tattoos and Aziraphale commenting on them, enraptured. When they paid the bill and left the restaurant, quiet reigned between them. And while they normally settled into a comfortable silence after eating, this one felt stifling and awkward. Aziraphale seemed aware that Crowley was deep in thought and didn’t want to break into it.

“Hey, angel.”

“Ah, yes?”

“I heard you earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“Talking to Gabriel. About me.”

“Oh. Oh my. Well. I see.” Aziraphale’s face was turning red.

“I’ve been thinking.” He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “I’d give you angel wings. On your back and shoulders. I normally draw more grim things, but you should have something light. Something beautiful.”

His eyes were wide, and a large goofy grin had spread across his face. “Oh. That’s quite. Quite charming, actually.”

Crowley laughed, then huffed, looking at Aziraphale again.

“Hey, Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale froze, blushed, then stuttered, “I-I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Crowley nodded, hand reaching up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. He leaned into it, and Crowley melted. Why had he waited so long to try this? He leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to Aziraphale’s. They kissed softly, for a moment, then pulled apart. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s other hand, and heard him sigh.

“You go too fast for me.”

“Are you overwhelmed?”

“A bit. But it’s not a bad overwhelmed.”

“Right. Good. Alright. I can work with that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. We can go as fast or slow as we want. Doesn’t matter. Just, well.” He paused, unsure.

Aziraphale rose a brow. “Just?”

“Just want to be with you. That’s all.”

Aziraphale had a light blush, and he gave a feeble laugh before he hesitantly leaned forward, kissing Crowley just as tenderly as he had earlier.

Now Crowley’s cheeks were red.

“I can do that.”


End file.
